Goodbyes
by Daemonette19
Summary: He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t waiting for her. But when he heard the faint steps on the flagstones, felt the deliberate pull in his gut that indicated another with the taint, he gave up convincing himself. Dalish PC/Alistair


**AN: Dragon Age & it's characters belong to Bioware and not me. (I would have squeezed a couple more happier endings in there)**

**Goodbyes**

Alistair looked out over the palace courtyard. His brother's study and before him their fathers, offered a view of Denerim that few got to see. Four floors up and lined in floor to ceiling window's it ensured the king never forgot the people he was sworn to protect.

He has made the room his own over the years, a mixture of memento's and heirlooms, reminders of a family lost and a heritage kept. Cailan's armour in one corner, that of a long forgotten Warden Commander in another, Duncan's shield above the fireplace, a matched pair of Dalish longswords behind his desk.

He tried to convince himself that he wasn't waiting for her, that he wasn't focused on each small sound in the hallway, that his heart hadn't faltered each time a page ran past on an errand. But when he heard the faint steps on the flagstones, the startled "Warden!" from a surprised servant, the deliberate pull in his gut that indicated another with the taint, he gave up convincing himself.

She didn't knock, didn't let some page announce her, just let herself into his study and gently shut the door behind her.

"Your Majesty" her voice was as pained as her face. Would those wounds never heal? His own heart clenched. Gods, he still wanted her. Three and a half years after marrying Anora and he still reached for N'Dara in his sleep. Still dreamed of pulling her hair free and burying his face in the tawny gold mass of it, still heard the soft sounds of pleasure she made in the dark of the night, still longed for the ease of her words and the comfort of her arms. Still regretted the sense of honour that kept them apart.

"Alistair, please. No titles from you. Between us there's always been …. just ..us which means I'm just…" this time _his_ voice was pained. "Alistair"

She turned away, focused on a glass cabinet filled with small carvings and oddments.

"Your mother's pendant? And this fellow, I remember finding him for you" N'Dara stroked the small carved demon gently, fondly.

"Memories of us…our travels, our time together" He felt as tongue tied as the first moment he'd met her.

"I can see that. Duncans shield too?" she kissed the fingers of one hand and pressed it to the worn metal. She murmured something in Elven but it was so long since she had tried to teach him, so long since he could remember those times without heart wrenching grief. What little knowledge she had imparted was gone now, well, except for a number of words that had more to do with an impromptu anatomy lesson. Their laughter then had little to do with the sorrow that permeated the room. That always hung about them now, when they met. Would it never go?

"I have to speak to you" her voice wavered as it rarely had in their time together. Insistent, unrelenting, strident… at times, confident…mostly, weeping…out loud - never, in the dark…more than he could bear. Tears over Zathrian, Swiftrunner, Lothering, A nameless elf, a haunted child, a possessed warden. Her dearest friend, her greatest enemy. She mourned them all. He had hoped never to hear her tears again. Would they never cease?

"I cannot continue coming here, Alistair. It hurts me too much. You must not call for me any longer, no don't speak" She held a hand up to forestall him, then hid it behind her back when she saw he had noticed the tremble. "Ferelden needs to stand without me now. You have councilors aplenty, you have Anora and Eamon and the other Arls to guide you though you must not let her pressure you. Your heart is your greatest strength, Alistair that and your kindness. Your people, elf, shem, noble, peasant have gotten into the habit of believing that I and the Wardens can ride in and right any wrongs, heal any wounds. It may have been necessary at first, to have a hero to rally behind but it is long past time when they should have stood with you. Not me, it should never have been me."

Light green eyes met grief stricken brown. "I will no longer run errands for the various peoples of Ferelden. I'm going to the Keep, maybe, perhaps, I'll travel a little. It's time for me to pass on my duties. I will speak for the Dalish, should my people need me, I will be in close communication with the Warden's here."

"You're exiling yourself?"

"Yes"

He grabbed her upper arms, felt his fingers bite into the hard flesh.

"I don't understand…I do about the…the standing up for myself part, the relying on Wardens too much bit but not you leaving us. Leaving me. So what that people still look for you to aid them, so what that you're still saluted as the Hero of Ferelden, that's not why you're going, why you're running. Why now after so many years?"

She shook her head, tried to pull away before the tears started but he wouldn't let her, he pulled her closer, held her tighter. Her face crumpled, N'Dara beat against his chest with her fists.

"Because it never ends, it never goes. Just when I start to recover I'm called back to Denerim, to the palace and I always come, always. And then you're here and I see you and its back. If I had known I would never have sent you to Morrigan that night, I didn't realise you see, I thought you would change your mind, that you could still love me. I would rather have died slaying the archdemon, killing the darkspawn then have suffered these last few years. It never heals, Alistair. We touch when we meet, when we reminisce, when we discuss the various darkspawn incursions. You brush my hair away from my face, I grab your hand to point something out to you. It all comes back. Then I see Anora, hear a rumour that she might be pregnant, hear servants and nobles alike talk about how many times she's visited your bedchamber. And I'm torn apart anew. Reminded that you chose _her_. When I'm here, it's too easy to delude myself, to believe in the illusion that we have a future together, somehow. Before I wasn't strong enough but now, now I am. I'm going. Far enough away to heal, far enough to learn how to live again, maybe someday … how to love again."

For all her heated words N'Dara allowed him to draw her head against his chest, to cradle her against himself as she sobbed, one arm tight around her shoulders the other hand clasped in the bundle of hair pinned at the back of her head. He hadn't realised, not all of it. He had known that the longer she stayed the tenser her shoulders would become, the more stricken her expression, the quicker her temper. Stupidly he had put most of it down to the nobles that tried to cluster around her. The disparaging comments that still circulated, Maker forbid the Hero of Ferelden should be both woman and elf and a wild elf at that. Brought up among the savage Dalish and with no concept of the civilisation others of her kind were granted within Ferelden. He realised now that he had clung to her, to the intimacy still between them. Like N'Dara he hadn't wanted to let go. Unlike N'Dara he'd been shielded by his illusion not decimated by it. Would he never stop hurting her?

She looked up at him, her finely featured face wet with tears, the winding tattoo fading into the gold of her skin, the white lines of her scars. The pale green predator's eyes were tired now, weary beyond belief. He stroked the tears away, traced the edge of her sharply pointed ears, the line of her jaw and eventually locked in the green of her gaze he reached up and unpinned her hair. It fell about her face and down her back, every colour of gold and bronze, imaginable. A mass of tawny, sun kissed curls. He buried his face in it, inhaled her familiar perfume of leather and herbs, sweat and steel and under it all, somehow, there was the scent of the forest. Of green, blooming things and dark, hidden places. And there, hidden himself, he shed his own tears.

"Alistair," her voice was at once chiding and understanding. Had she learnt that from Wynne? This time when their eyes met a wealth of understanding passed between them and when he cradled her face he lifted her mouth to his own. She was sweetness and sadness and she let him control the kiss, too frail to even dare believe.

"What are you thinking off?" Uncertain, now and he knew exactly who had taught her that. They had made vows to each other, tentative to be sure, more a promise of a promise for their future and it was he who had ripped it away from her.

"I'm trying to remember if I ever made love to you during the day. I can remember tents, wet tents, dry tents, tents with smelly dogs in them, the forest, wait … there was the river that time…no, night again. Why was that do you think?" He kissed her again and began working his way down her throat.

She answered him seriously although he could feel her vibrate with suppressed laughter. "possibly because we were busy killing things during the day. Saving the world and all that."

"A worthy cause to be sure" It was muffled against her collarbone and she gasped and arched into him.

"The rewards were overrated"

He pulled back, looking for bitterness but finding instead that same weary resignation, this time laced with humour.

"That's for damn sure" He crossed to the door, locking it quickly before moving purposely for the drapes. Wrenching them even further open the study flooded with the afternoon winter sun.

"Just once, if this is to be our last hurrah, I want to see you, all of you. I need to be able to remember, everything" He had been making his way back to her as he spoke and at the last word he bent and gently kissed her again.

"Everything" she agreed with him and began working the stiff blue jacket off his shoulders.

They ended up in front of the fireplace, the smarter place to be really he thought, then the mess of his desk or the cold of the stone wall. He admired the contrast of their skins hers burnished gold from the sun, his gone pale from the lack against the dark fur of the bearskin rug. He quivered with the need to make some comment about it. Bare skin and bearskin. And when he read the knowledge of it in her face they both burst out laughing anyway.

Once upon a time he had known every scar on her body, every faint mark, now he learnt them anew, committing each to memory. Hands tracing the silver lines, followed by his lips wishing he could have been at her side. He should have been at her side, watching her, helping her, protecting her. Would he never stop regretting?

They came together slowly, languidly, taking their time over each sensation, knowing that each memory would need to last a lifetime. A lifetime without each other. And when finally they could put it off no longer and she shuddered against him, tears spilling down her cheeks N'Dara whispered, "I love you"

"Dearest one, my love, I love you" He kissed her fiercely, felt her lip give under the onslaught, tasted blood and for a moment, lost in passion, the sorrow eased.

She slept for a little while, worn out physically, over which he smirked, and emotionally, which tugged at his heart and he watched, curled about her slim form, his head propped up on one palm. Like their first night together. Watching her, revelling in the sensations, realising just how deeply she was nestled in his soul.

She slept for barely half a candle mark and woke stretching like a cat, a smug look of satisfaction on her face. When she saw how the movement had attracted his attention it was her turn to smirk and she held out her arms to him again. This time there was the fire and passion of their earlier years, the way she groaned and begged him greedily, the way her nails bit into his back and her thighs wound tightly about his waist. He fisted his hands in the dark gold of her hair, bit lightly at her mouth and neck and jaw, held her straining body to his as they fought for their pleasure. Would he never stop desiring her?

"I need to go"

"I know" He watched as she dressed, watched as the shell of leather and cloth enveloped her form. Hid a grin as he watched her close her eyes and tremble through a last few aftershocks.

"Alistair, why? Why did you never ask me to stay?"

Ah, the cusp of it all. He took a deep breath, "Too many reasons … but they all begin with not wanting to hurt you, usually end that way as well" Another grin, sheepish this time. "I didn't want the life of a court mistress for you, for you to see me keep leaving you to be with Anora, to see her have children, to be defined as the King's Mistress. There were already comments about my.." he winced "elven whore. I thought it better to step back, to let you have a life." He remembered their earlier conversation, "Didn't quite work out though."

"Foolish shem. You should have asked me what I wanted. All I ever wanted was us." She buckled on longsword and dagger and shrugged settling the weight against her shoulders. "I would have commanded the Wardens and sometimes when I was in Denerim or you were in Amaranthine or travelling with us, I would have shared your bed and sometimes you would have shared mine. Yours was always meant to be a political marriage, after Anora had an heir you would have been free. Though perhaps another child, a spare as the saying goes would have been advisable. Silly shemlenn. Honour is no good without the brains to back it up."

She kissed him again, her hair about his face the same mix of sweetness and sadness as before, "I may not write for a while. It will take time" He brushed away the single tear that streaked down her cheek and nodded mutely. Would he never stop underestimating her?

She slipped out the door and he pulled on his trousers, hurrying to the window for one last glimpse of her. She was winding her hair about her head, struggling with pins he assumed as she crossed the courtyard. A slim, golden haired shape approached her and with a start he recognised the other elf, Zevran. The assassin caught her as her legs gave way and held her, N'Dara's tawny head pressed against his shoulder. He led her into a shadowed doorway, Alistair squinted there was another shape, no two, a dark haired woman and …no…N'Dara bent and picked up a small child, who's red-gold curls shone brightly for a second in a stray ray of setting sun.

He pressed himself against the glass, hands flat against the pane as if he could just reach through and touch them and as golden eyes looked unerringly up at him, once again he could smell, just faintly, the strange scents of Morrigan's ritual.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait so long. I never expected to take all afternoon just saying goodbye." N'Dara shoved a last stubborn pin into the unruly locks and hoped they'd stay out the way.

Zevran simply drew her into his arms, let her find some of the composure and strength she needed away from prying eyes. She trembled against him, exhausted, overwrought. The emotional upheavals of the day taking their toll.

He ignored it, offered her anonymity and humour and time to collect herself. He shrugged, "I was kept busy, the little witch here had her faithful Crow following her all over the marketplace, hey?" he chucked Ciara under the chin making the little girl giggle and Morrigan roll her eyes.

"I, however expected you to be …late. 'Tis been a time since I have seen you to be sure, but when have you and your hapless prince ever been able to keep your hands off each other."

Zevran shot her a quelling look then watched, mouth hanging open as N'Dara flushed a deep red. Part of him wondered just how far down the flush went while another part struggled with his disappointment.

"And what exactly were you up to, oh great witch of the wilds?" N'Dara whisked the child up onto her hip and the party started for the gate.

"This and that, there was a spirit I needed to speak to and then a ritual to perform. It was a little difficult without the blood sacrifice but the spiritual one sufficed, nonetheless."

"Do I want to know?" the Warden sounded wary and resigned, she knew the witch too well.

"Oh, you'll know in time."

"Argh, don't be so cryptic Morrigan, I may have missed you but your doomsday mutterings I definitely did better without."

The yellow-eyed witch smiled and reached to take her daughter from her friend.

"A doomsday is truly ahead but not what you expect. I simply gave you a gift, my sister, one I share." She trailed her nails down the dalish elf's armour until they rested against her lower abdomen. She smiled into the wide green eyes.

"I knew how you would say your goodbyes"

"You …I…a child?"

"He is a gift and I hope an easing of your heart but I would ask a boon, my sister"

"Anything, you know that"

Morrigan passed her daughter back to the Warden, "Mother has surfaced, as we feared she might. I need to go after her myself this time, end this between us once and for all. Will you give my daughter your protection? For her father's sake if not for…"

"Of course, I will. Because she's yours as well, not just Ali…" she faltered shook herself and carried on. "Do you mind her living at the Keep, there are families there but also Avernus, I don't know that blood mages are healthy for a childs development"

"I trust you. Raise her as you see fit. I hope to return but 'tis impossible to foresee"

Morrigan pressed a kiss against Ciara's forehead and brushed the red-gold curls out of her eyes, "Mama loves you, little one. More than I thought possible. I will never stop. N'Dara is going to take care of you for a while, she has your brother growing within her. Take good care of them both"

She hugged N'Dara and Ciara once more and then in a flash of green a large raven was winging it's way out of Denerim.

Zevran swallowed, "That was…unexpected. Where to now, oh, fearless leader?"

"The Keep, I have plans for it and the Wardens. Feel up to training a bunch of new recruits?"

"Young, handsome, sweaty recruits? I believe I could be persuaded"

She grinned at him and for the first time in a long time, there was no shadow behind her smile.

"Let's go then."

* * *

Please Read & Review!!

What do you think of my first foray back in a while? J


End file.
